My little girl is seven years old today. When you are diagnosed with ALS, you understand that you have a 50% chance of dying within 2 to 5 years. Scarlett was two years old when I was diagnosed, and it was reasonable for me to believe that I might not make it to her seventh birthday.

But here I am.

She woke up to balloons and a Truly Me American Girl doll, the kind that looks like her: hair that Scarlett once described as “the color of chicken nuggets”, brown eyes, and a small smattering of freckles. There was a toy that looks like Otto, and some matching outfits for Scarlett and her doll, who she named “Scarlett”, although by the time she left for school, the doll’s name might have been “Elizabeth.” It was all a little confusing.

This morning was not like her second birthday, Read More>